Weasel and Ferret: Here's Lookin' At You
by cuethepulse-old
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets written for LJ's 10 Quotes challenge, each story relating to a quote from a classic movie. Ron x Draco slash.
1. Forgiveness

Title: Forgiveness  
Movie/quote: Grapes of Wrath—"Maybe there ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue, they's just what people does. Some things folks do is nice and some ain't so nice, and that's all any man's got a right to say."  
Summary: Ron sometimes forgets that Draco was a 16-year-old Death Eater. (Established relationship)  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.  
A/N: Major spoilers up to _Half-Blood Prince_. Takes place post-series.

The first time Ron saw it was an accident, a moment of carelessness. The tiniest bit of scarred skin peeked out from underneath Draco's rolled-up sleeve, and Ron couldn't help the way his eyes were drawn to it, the way it chilled him and rendered him incapable of any kind of speech. Draco jerked his sleeves down when he noticed, grey eyes glinting with something Ron couldn't see long enough to identify, and he flew from Ron's bedroom without a word of goodbye or a second glace. Ron gaped after him for a moment, confused but ultimately grateful; he didn't think he'd have made for any sort of decent company after seeing that.

There were times, when they were together, that Ron forgot Draco had taken the Dark Mark. They just never talked about that time, if they could avoid it. And it was hard to really think about much of anything serious when being snogged by a Malfoy.

And when he _did_ think about it, when he _did_ remember, he felt returned to his sixth-year self, a surge of anger and betrayal swelling inside him (why betrayal, he didn't know—he and Draco were far from even being friends at the time). When he thought about it, he wasn't sure how he'd managed to even consider dating him.

The snogging probably helped.

The second time Ron saw it was purposeful, a calculated plan. He waited until Draco was effectively distracted, writhing underneath him and making little, sub-vocal noises that threatened to undo Ron's careful concentration. He moved his hand to Draco's wrist, exuding gentle pressure in an affectionate squeeze. And slowly, so slowly, his fingers slid the sleeve of Draco's shirt upward; Draco's body went tense beneath him and Ron, caught, eased himself up on one elbow, his hand still holding the other man's arm. He loosened his grip when Draco didn't make a move to run away, and the tips of his fingers traced the imperfection Voldemort's mark left on the pale skin, sucking in a sharp intake of breath.

And as he touched, he thought. He thought of a teenage boy with a father in Azkaban and a mother at the mercy of one the most powerful wizards of all time. He thought of a teenage boy, desperate and scared, who was now older, but still scared sometimes when the lights were out and he was half-asleep. He thought of a teenage boy's insults and threats and how empty, how hollow they seemed, compared to who he was now, a man who smiled more and was ticklish and whined when being ignored but forgave easily.

Ron met Draco's eyes which were trying to look bored and disinterested, but he knew better; he could see beyond the veil, see the fear there—fear of rejection, of disgust, of being pushed away and left alone. Ron leaned, pressed lips to lips as he pressed palm to scar, and forgave.


	2. For Pride

Title: For Pride  
Movie/quote: Singing in the Rain—"You couldn't kiss me like that and not mean it just a teensy bit!" – "Meet the greatest actor in the world! I'd rather kiss a tarantula."  
Summary: A kissing bet brings Draco frustration, Pansy amusement, and Ron complete confusion.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

Draco's bloody pride was ruining him.

Generally, Draco steered clear of things like bets and gambling. After all, he didn't need money and he had better things to do with his time. But sometimes it couldn't be avoided. And even Slytherins, he found, could be as silly and immature as a first year Hufflepuff, especially with the excitement and restlessness that accompanied the approach of the holidays. A kissing bet. How elementary could one get? Draco wasn't afraid of kisses, but he did want to have some say in who he kissed. He had a reputation to uphold. It was the anonymity that was killing him: "the next Gryffindor to walk in the Great Hall." Merlin, it could be anyone! But he couldn't refuse, couldn't turn the bet down or try to dismiss it and hope his peers would leave it at that.

He watched the Great Hall entrance over his breakfast with a look he hoped was more disinterested than disdainful. He just hoped it didn't turn out to be Potter. He'd rather kiss that Mudblood, Granger, than Potter. Hell, he'd rather kiss Longbottom than Potter. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would be worse.

And then _he_ walked in.

Tall, freckled, with a head of flaming red hair, it was Draco's most frightening nightmare come true.

He was going to have to _kiss_ Ronald Weasley.

He tried to talk himself out of it. Surely they would understand that having him kiss a Weasley where the whole school would see would tarnish not only his name, but would be a source of embarrassment for the entire house of Slytherin. But that only succeeded in biding him some time; the kiss could occur at any place, any time during the day, so long as there was one Slytherin present to bear witness.

Sometimes, just _sometimes_, being a Malfoy was extremely inconvenient.

-

Pansy Parkinson had never seen two boys kiss.

She wasn't sure if the thought was an appealing one or not. She'd never considered it, really. Well, maybe once or twice in the middle of hot, sweaty nights. But she supposed she should've been disgusted—angry, even—at the thought of Draco kissing Ron Weasley.

Instead, she found the whole thing utterly hilarious.

"Stop smirking and bugger off," Draco said as she followed him down one of the corridors.

The irritation he felt at his situation was written clearly all over his face, but she merely shrugged.

"I can't leave until I see you ki—"

"_Don't_ say it."

She sniggered and he positively glowered at her. She couldn't contain herself. The thought was too ridiculous. She wondered how he was going to pull it off; it wasn't as if the two boys were alone together often, and when they were, it wasn't long before they started trying to hex each other. It was hard for her to imagine either of them standing still or being quiet long enough to kiss.

Them. _Kiss_.

She laughed again and Draco growled, "Oh, shut up!"

-

It was chilly in the Owlery, though a rather pleasant sort of chilly, and so Ronald Weasley was in no hurry to leave after watching—with a mixture of pity and bemusement—as Pigwidgeon bobbed out into the coming twilight, laden with the packages of Honeydukes sweets he was sending to Bill and Charlie for Christmas. Instead, he rested his crossed arms on one of the windowsills and let the breeze ruffle his red hair and cool his face as the sun set, quite content.

"There you are!"

He cringed at the unfortunately familiar voice, peaceful moment shattered. Turning from the window, he saw Draco Malfoy standing in the entrance. He looked tense, his face scrunched up in frustration and faintly flushed; he was out of breath, his hair and robes disheveled, looking like he'd run all the way up the West Tower. If Ron was going to be perfectly honest with himself, he thought Malfoy actually looked pretty good.

Luckily, he was almost never perfectly honest with himself when it came to Malfoy.

"What are you doing _here_?" asked Malfoy, like he had the right to know wherever Ron went.

"What do you think?" Ron snapped back, indignant.

Malfoy scowled at him, and then suddenly stumbled forward as if he'd been pushed. He shot a glare somewhere over his shoulder before his grey eyes darted distractedly around the room and finally focused on the floor. Ron watched him, confused and a little annoyed. It seemed to him that Malfoy had purposefully sought him out, but he was just standing there looking pissy and asking stupid questions. He had a right mind to just walk out; it wasn't like he cared what the Slytherin had to say to him anyway. Well, he didn't _really_ care. Not enough to hang around and put up with his mysterious fuming.

_And yet_, said an irritating voice in the back of his mind, _you aren't leaving, now are you?_

"I don't really like it in here," Malfoy said presently. "It's drafty."

Ron knew he was gaping at the other boy, but he couldn't really help it. Was Draco Malfoy attempting _conversation_? With _him_?

"It's dirty, besides, and it reeks. But you're probably used to that, Weasley."

Now _that_ was more like it.

"I don't care what you like or don't like, Malfoy," Ron snarled. He could feel his ears burning and hated how Malfoy could rile him up so easily. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I wasn't," Draco spat, eyes narrowing; Ron barely managed to resist throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Then what do you want?!"

And then Draco kissed him. Just like that. Just took a deep breath and closed the few feet of space between them—and Ron had been so sure they'd been farther apart than that—and kissed him.

Any aggravation or confusion or anger quickly joined the jumbled mess his thoughts and feelings became at the touch of lips and he couldn't concentrate on anything—not running away, not punching Malfoy in the face, not wondering why Malfoy was doing this in the first place, not the hoots of the owls around them. But after what felt like several moments and was really only three seconds, he came to his senses.

And kissed Malfoy back.

After that, it only got better. Malfoy's hands gripped his arms then slid up to his shoulders, while his own slipped around and clutched at the back of the Slytherin's robes. They were so close and Malfoy tasted so good and the room felt hot for the first time and Ron never wanted it to ever end, because then he would have to think again and nothing good would come from that.

But then Malfoy released him, pulling away so fast he almost fell backwards, red-faced and silent, and he fled from the Owlery with a speed he usually reserved for his broom on the Quidditch pitch. Ron was left alone with the owls watching him curiously and the unhelpful night breeze.

-

Bloody, stupid pride.

Pansy had refrained from sharing the more embarrassing details in her retelling of the kiss, and Draco would feel grateful when he was in a better mood. He ignored the incredulous laughs and the offered admiration of his fellow Slytherins, choosing instead to stare moodily into the fire that blazed in the common room fireplace.

He reminded himself of all the reasons he hated Ron Weasley (too many to count) and how glad he was that the stupid bet was over and done with (so extremely glad) and how relieved he was that he would never have to kiss the Gryffindor again (now _that_ was the one he was having trouble with).

With an inaudible groan, Draco closed his eyes. He brushed the knuckles of his hand over his lips and thought of Weasley and how warm he felt against him, how much he'd enjoyed himself, and how quickly he'd run away when he'd realized that fact.

And he didn't very feel proud at all.


	3. The Inevitable

Title: The Inevitable  
Movie/quote: Casablanca—"Don't you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this? I mean what you're fighting for." - "You might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die." - "Well, what of it? It'll be out of its misery."  
Summary: Takes place in _Order of the Phoenix_. Established relationship. After one of his Ron's arranged meetings in the Room of Requirement, Draco questions the purpose of Dumbledore's Army.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

"Expecto patronum!"

Draco, rousing from a short doze, sat up in the ornate king-sized bed the Room of Requirement had provided for him. Across the room, his freckled, redhead paramour was pointedly waving his wand, his face set in determination. Draco watched, silent and curious, as Ron repeated the incantation.

"_Expecto_ patronum! Expecto _patronum_!_Expecto patronum_!"

A silvery light emitted from Ron's wand, and he let out a whoop of victory. Draco's eyebrow quirked and the corner of his mouth tugged upward as he watched the Patronus take the form of a Jack Russell Terrier. The small dog bounded around Ron's feet and as the Gryffindor turned, watching it, he noticed the bemused Slytherin smirking at him.

"How_cute_," Draco sneered and the Patronus vanished as Ron scowled at him. "I'm sure the other DA members will be very impressed by the manliness of your adorable puppy."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Ron pocketed his wand in his trousers and returned to the bed, sitting on the edge and allowing Draco to wrap his arms around him from behind.

"So is that what Potter has you all doing these days?" Draco accentuated his query with a few almost-kisses to the back of Ron's neck. "Conjuring up fuzzy little animals to scare away Dementors? That'll come in real handy when you're facing off against the Dark Lord, won't it?"

"Harry's teaching the best defensive magic we can learn," Ron bristles, defensive. "Just because someone like you would have us learn the Cruciatus Curse or something—"

"Now, by 'someone like me', you mean someone brilliant and clever and extremely gifted in the art of dueling?"

"Hardly. Ow!" Ron glared back at Draco and rubbed at the spot on his shoulder where the blond had bitten. "Git."

"Wanker." Draco relinquished his loose hold on the other boy and fell back onto the bed with a huff. "Honestly. If you aren't going to learn something useful, there really isn't much of a point."

"It_is_ useful," Ron insisted, twisting around to properly glower at his companion. "What are you trying to say, Malfoy? You think the DA is useless?"

"I find any sort of resistance useless. You honestly think the Dark Lord is going to let anything stop him this time? There's nothing anyone can do."

"What do you suggest, then?" Ron's brow was furrowed, eyes blazing furiously and ears burning as red as his hair. He hated when he remembered what an evil, infuriating prat Draco really was. "You think we should all just surrender, just give in?"

"It'd be much simpler," Draco replied calmly, crossing his arms behind his head, grey eyes focused challengingly on Ron's own. "Why prolong the inevitable?"

"Bloody hell, Malfoy," Ron practically whispered, voice hoarse and disbelieving. "Whose side are you on?"

Draco dropped his gaze, then, suddenly interested in the emerald sheets that covered him from the waist down.

"Right," Ron muttered, standing from the bed and retrieving his shirt and robes. "That was a stupid question, wasn't it?"

"Well, really," Draco drawled, "what else could be expected from you, Weasley?"

But his retort fell on deaf ears. Soon, Ron had left the room and Draco was alone. He smiled humorlessly to himself; it always did end that way. He was almost used to it, this cycle of coming and going that they had. It would stop one day, though, he knew.

Then why—his earlier question echoed back at him—why prolong the inevitable?

Because, as useless as he knew it to be, it was human nature to hope.


End file.
